Merlin woke to the kiss of sunlight upon his eyelids, and the tangle of sheets around his limbs. The crisp morning air had drifted in through the open window with the birdsong. Dimly, he was aware that he was shivering.
And then the cold seemed to hit him all at once.
Stumbling out of bed, Merlin pulled his trousers on and his window closed. His whole body ached, the bruise on his side was turning purple, and no amount of yawning seemed to be chasing away his tiredness.
There was a metallic clash from the next room.
Merlin paused. It had sounded suspiciously like someone walking into a bucket. And stranger still, it had been followed by a hush of voices. Plural.
Merlin tugged on a shirt. "Gaius? Is that you?"
No reply.
"Gaius?" Carefully, Merlin inched open his door.
The chambers were a mess, as usual, and smelt strongly of candle wax and old parchment, with the added aroma of whatever new potion sat brewing on the desk. And then there was the upturned bucket. Luckily, and for whatever ungodly reason, rather than water, the bucket had contained an assortment of scrolls which, now strewn across the floor, at least made for an easier mess to clean up.
"Ah," Gaius turned around, "Merlin, I was just—"
"Causing a racket?"
The old man rolled his eyes and continued towards the shelves, moving just far enough that Merlin was finally able to see the figure huddled in the doorway.
"Morgana?"
The lady was still in her nightdress, a shawl pulled close around her shoulders, with her hair falling loosely to the side. "Forgive me," she smiled, "I didn't mean to wake you. I had trouble sleeping — bad dreams — and I wondered if Gaius had anything that might help."
"Bad dreams? What kind of bad dreams?"
"It's nothing, I'm sure. I had a late night last night — I imagine we all did — and it must have just worn me out," Morgana smiled as she was handed a small vial of liquid, "I'll feel better with this, no doubt."
"Take it before bed," Gaius instructed, "it should help to relax you. Any issues and you know where to find me."
As Morgana thanked him, Merlin felt there was something off about her smile. It seemed out of place. It seemed strange — subtle, but definitely strange. It was so subtle, in fact, that he almost missed it. And then he realised. It wasn't the smile. It was the eyes; Morgana's eyes were puffy and rubbed red and glistened, not with tears, but with something else: fear.
Merlin watched as she headed for the door. "Morgana?"
Her smile seemed as sweet as ever. But there was no mistaking her eyes.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"Positive. Oh, and Merlin? Would you please do me a favour?"
"Of course, my Lady."
"Don't tell Arthur about this. I don't want him to worry."
"Your secret's safe with me."
Morgana nodded, glancing briefly about the room, and then left as hurriedly, Merlin assumed, as she came in.
"When you're finished staring at the door," Gaius yawned, "could you pick up those scrolls?"
Merlin pulled a face. "You knocked them over!"
"Yes, and you disappeared for two days without telling me. Puts quite the strain on an old man's heart."
"I was kidnapped."
Gaius raised an eyebrow. "Well, whatever happened, I didn't get my herbs. And I'm certainly not getting on the floor to collect those scrolls. It's not good for my joints."
"Unbelievable."
~~~
Unlike Morgana, Arthur had not woken up off his own accord. In fact, Merlin had been very close to physically dragging the Prince out of bed, and the only thing that stopped him was the pillow that Arthur had hurled, full force, at his face.
Merlin had almost left the room.
Arthur had gotten up after that.
Now, saddling the horses in the courtyard, Merlin wondered whether he should have woken Arthur at all, because the Prince's suggestion of a hunting trip was not his idea of fun. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
"Ready?" Arthur grinned.
"Do I have a choice?"
"You do not."
"Then yes. I'm ready."
"Perfect," Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, "let's go."
~~~
They'd barely been in the forest five minutes before Arthur had insisted on straying from the path. He seemed to be following a mental map, winding his way through the trees and perpetually travelling upwards.
They were going deep into the forest, where the tree roots seemed to rise above the ground like tentacles, and the birds sang in strange tones. Yet Merlin felt as though they were closer to the sky than the forest; as if they could reach the summit of the hill and then keep climbing, until they drifted free from the tops of the trees.
Arthur raised a hand and halted the horses. "Do you know where we are?"
"You've gotten us lost, haven't you?"
"No, just—," Arthur sighed, "just look."
Merlin followed the direction of Arthur's gaze. Below them, nestled amongst the trees and shining in the sunlight, rose the turrets of a castle. It was magnificent. Its bright walls stood in stark contrast to the surrounding green of the forest, and small trails of smoke twisted upwards from hidden houses. It was as if nature had tried to claim the city for its own. It was as if Camelot had let it.
"What do you think?"
"Beautiful," Merlin smiled, watching as Arthur dismounted and stretched, "definitely worth the trek."
"Good. Now help me tie up the horses, and we can start."
Merlin groaned. "Do you really have to spoil the view by insisting on killing something?"
There was a pause, and then Arthur laughed.
"It's not funny! It's cruel and I hate—"
"Merlin, stop whining. We're not going hunting."
"I— we're not?"
"No, you idiot."
"Oh. Why are we in the middle of the forest then?"
"Well," Arthur turned to face him, "I was actually hoping you could tell me about magic. It's a lot safer out here than in the castle, and I'd really like to learn about it. But if you don't want to—"
"No, I mean— yes, I'll tell you about it. I'll tell you anything you want to know." Merlin slid off his horse and moved to join Arthur, who'd settled himself on the floor. "What do you want to know?"
Arthur thought for a moment. "You said you were born with magic. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Merlin shrugged. "I could cast spells before I could crawl. I never knew why until— well, until I met my Father. It was a few months ago," Merlin drew in a long breath, "he was a warlock too."
"Was?"
Merlin kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. "He died."
"I'm sorry, really I—"
"I'd rather not talk about it."
Arthur smiled sadly. He wanted to hug Merlin, to tell him he was sorry, that he was so fucking sorry, that he'd had to go through that. That he'd had to go through that alone. Because Merlin had never said a word. Not once. And now here he was, staring so intently at the ground that he could have borne a hole through it, and Arthur could physically see the pain written across his face. He wasn't crying, not now, but Arthur could tell he had been. Gods, how many days had he mourned? And how many days had Arthur failed to notice? He hadn't been there for him then, but he wanted to tell him that he was now. He wanted to tell him so many things: to comfort, to heal. To help. Instead, he whispered "I'm sorry," and hoped that, somehow, Merlin knew.
For a moment, they sat in silence. And then, as if he was returning to himself, Merlin looked up at Arthur and said; "ask me something else."
"Alright. Your magic— what do you use it for?"
"For you."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
"Yes, you. Someone has to save your royal ass."
"Hey," Arthur made a face, "when have I ever needed saving?"
This time Merlin actually laughed.
"Go on then, since you think it's so funny."
"Okay. What about the time your chalice was poisoned and I drank it—"
"That does not count, because I was the one who had to get the flower to save you—"
"And what about that mysterious light that guided you to the flower and made sure you didn't fall and break your neck? And what about the time you were attacked by an enchanted shield? Or the time your Father married a troll and you would not listen to me—"
"Right—"
"Or," Merlin continued, "just about every time you and the Knights do something completely stupid and somehow make it out alive. Like the time you and Lancelot decided to take on that Griffin and it knocked you unconscious."
Arthur was completely stunned.
The day he realised Merlin had magic, the day he knew for certain, he'd seen him use that magic to save himself. Which he understood. And thank gods, too, because Merlin could have died. He could have been killed by a bandit. He was so close to death that he chose to use magic, something highly illegal, in front of the Crown Prince and his Uncle. He'd risked his life even when he was trying to save himself.
And then, Arthur realised, Merlin had risked his life for him too. Every time Arthur had been in danger, Merlin had risked his life to save him. Every damn time. And Arthur had never known. "Thank you," he breathed, "I owe you my life. Countless times over, it seems. And you never sought any credit."
"That's not why I did it. And besides," Merlin laughed, "who'd have believed me?"
"I do. I believe you."
Merlin's face softened, his mouth curving into a small smile. He couldn't help himself. Arthur was finally seeing him for who he really was. And that was the only thing that mattered, because it was Arthur, and having him finally understand was like seeing the first flowers of spring: amazing. It was more than excitement or relief; it was peace. It was the best feeling in the world.
"Wait," Arthur was frowning suddenly, "you killed the Griffin?"
"Yes?"
"No, hold on a minute. Lancelot killed the Griffin. He—"
"I enchanted his jousting lance."
"But you weren't there when I woke up."
Merlin shrugged. "I had to make you think it was Lancelot."
"Wait, but if you enchanted his lance, does that mean—? Does that mean he knew? Lancelot knew you had magic before I did? Lancelot?"
"It was an accident!"
"Well," Arthur huffed, "at least I worked it out for myself."
"Did you though?"
"Yes, Merlin. Seeing you in the woods was the last piece of evidence I needed. I'm not completely stupid."
Merlin laughed. "You keep telling yourself that."
"Oi!" Arthur shoved his arm, "alright, next question: who else knows?"
"In Camelot? Just Lancelot and Gaius."
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
"That's it, I promise."
"Good. Let's try to keep it that way."
"Why, are you jealous?"
"No. I just don't want you to get killed. You know, if the wrong person were to find out."
Merlin rolled his eyes.
"Alright. Can I have one last question?"
"Go ahead."
"Can you show me something? Can you show me magic?"
Merlin glanced around and, sure enough, the place was utterly deserted. He and Arthur were probably the only people for miles. "Come here," Merlin whispered.
Carefully, Arthur shifted himself so that he was seated directly in front of Merlin; they both had their legs crossed, and were close enough that their knees brushed against each other.
"Ready?"
Arthur nodded, watching intently as Merlin clasped his hands together. He leaned closer almost subconsciously, as though he was being drawn towards the warlock, and then, briefly, glanced from Merlin's hands to his eyes.
"Ye-wircan leef." The blue of Merlin's eyes was swallowed by a flash of gold.
Arthur was transfixed. Merlin's eyes were golden. They were golden like the Camelot dragon and yet they held so much more life in them, and so much more power. It was like looking into the heart of a star: bright, intense, and beautiful.
He looked back down just as Merlin opened his hands and a brilliant blue butterfly fluttered free. It was elegant and not like any species he'd ever seen. Maybe it wasn't a species at all, he realised. Maybe Merlin had created it himself. Maybe magic could just do that.
Arthur looked from the butterfly to Merlin; his eyes were blue again.
"Impressed?" Merlin grinned.
Arthur was at a loss for words.
"It's a glamour."
"Hmm?"
"The butterfly, it's..." Merlin trailed off, dimly aware that Arthur wasn't listening to him. He was still staring at his eyes. They were so close that Merlin could feel the warmth of Arthur's breath against his skin. It sent a shiver down his spine.
This was, Arthur realised, the second time he'd been this close to Merlin in two days. And it felt— gods, he didn't know what was going on. His heart was racing. He had to stop doing this, whatever this was. Arthur moved back with what he hoped look like eased, and cleared his throat. "Your eyes," he stated, simply, "they're very cool."
Merlin, trying not to look as flustered as he suddenly felt, smiled. "Thanks."
"Come on then," Arthur said, abruptly getting up, "let's get back before we're missed."
A/N
Me: let's make this a short chapter
Also me: how about Merlin rants for five minutes about how he's the literal only reason that Arthur hasn't died yet, and then I make this into the length of two chapters for no good reason?
~ Kat